The Twenty Sixth
by sweetlylethal
Summary: - Three Shot - She's gotta be joking. "Come again?" "You heard me, kiddo." And, she was right. I had heard every word. But, that didn't mean I had to believe it. "What's the matter, Gallagher Girl? Don't want to have me for the holidays?"
1. Chapter 1

**Alright. I know it's January 4th. And, the holidays are over. But, I spent all break long on this idea and felt if I didn't publish it after typing it, hating it, typing it, losing it, then typing it up again from scratch - it would be a total waste of time. So, for those who are still okay with reading about some Christmas cheer, this is a really long one shot (split in three) I like to call,  
>The Twenty Sixth. I hope you enjoy, and tell me what you think! <strong>

**Disclaimer: If I was Ally Carter, I imagine perfecting this wouldn't have taken so long. **

She's joking.  
>She's gotta be joking.<p>

"Come again?"  
>"You heard me, kiddo."<p>

And, she was right.  
>I had heard every word.<p>

But, still I steadied myself against the enormous black desk in the center of the spacious room and searched my mother's gorgeous eyes. For some sort of sign. Some sort of clue that she was lying.  
>That she<em> didn't <em>invite a certain boy to spend a certain holiday with a certain family.  
>That certain family being ours. The certain holiday being the first Christmas, the first <em>anything<em> I had spent with my grandparents since the Circle. And, the certain boy being…  
>Well…<p>

"What's the matter, Gallagher Girl?"  
>Zachary Goode appeared in my office doorway, leaned on the doorpost and smirked.<br>"Don't wanna have me for the holidays?"

I didn't answer that.  
>Because, one, I didn't really want to give him the satisfaction of telling him I'd be fine with having him anywhere I was at anytime of any day just so I could look at him.<br>And, two, I didn't want to be rude and say,

"Absolutely not!"

Well, so much for that.

"Cameron."  
>Despite the fact that I was no longer her student and she was no longer my headmistress, my mother shot my name out just the same. Like I was totally and completely under her control. Like I was seriously out of line. And, if I didn't reassemble myself back into that line, bad things would happen.<br>_Really_bad things.

"Zach, can you give us a second?"

My mom turned to the most watched, the most potentially threatening CIA newbie and smiled to him as he totally wasn't potentially threatening at all. Which trust me, he was. In a variety of ways. But, really, it didn't matter how threatening or lethal he was or not. He was no match for Rachel Morgan.  
>And, Zach himself knew that.<br>So, he gave a nod, flashed me a smirk then disappeared down the forty second hall of Langley central headquarters. Leaving me alone. With my mom.

I could almost see the white washed walls morph into ivy covered stone with my mother's closing of the sliding glass door. And, as I collapsed into the standard office chair behind my desk, it just as quickly transformed into a familiar leather couch that belonged to an office much more important than my own, and suddenly I wasn't in my office smack dab in the middle of the Langley "newbie division"( that, note, wasn't even located anywhere close the super cool interrogation and research headquarters below the mall in DC).

I suddenly was back at Gallagher. In my mom's office. Suddenly, I was home.

"Alright. What's going on, Kiddo?"

"What do you mean 'what's going on'?'" I muttered as my mom exchanged her iron strong hands for ones of silk, and reached out to stroke my hair. Just like she always had.

"With you and Mr. Goode,"  
>Her voice was almost giddy when she said that. Her perfect legs swung over the edge of my desk as she hopped onto the corner, more than enthusiastic to help me with my "boy troubles" for a couple of understandable reasons .<p>

1) Rachel Morgan was always up to the challenge. And, even though my mom has scaled buildings, escaped terrorists, and killed three men four times her size with nothing but a ball of yarn and some pocket lint (or that's what the rumor was freshman year), she always seemed to find chatting about my thoroughly confusing and pathetic love life far more exciting and worthwhile. After all, "motherhood is the greatest, most challenging mission there is, kiddo."

2) Due to the fact that I spent 10 months of the last year on the run from one of the most lethal terrorist organizations in the world, , it was frankly a miracle I was alive. And, as my mother, Rachel Morgan was bound and determined to treasure every little piece of life that was given back to me_. Including_ridiculous "boy troubles" caused by the son of the ring leader of the said most lethal terrorist organization in the world. No matter how completely insane that might sound.

The thing is, I had absolutely nothing to share. Nothing but the fact that he deliberately took the last doughnut in the lounge this morning and ate it in front of me though I'm pretty sure everyone on the forty second floor could hear my stomach growling.

But, that was about all our relationship came to anymore.

"Nothing," I mumbled still a little bitter about missing breakfast, "Nothing at all."

And, I meant it. So, I decided to move on to the more pressing crisis at hand.

"Mom, he can't come with us. He's going to – "

There were a dozen ways I could have finished that sentence,  
>but for some reason I couldn't find the words.<br>I felt two inches tall having to be lectured by my mother behind closed doors.  
>I felt five years old for fighting for a cause when I couldn't even put my finger on a defense.<br>I didn't feel like the newest, most promising CIA agent I was supposed to be.  
>I didn't feel nineteen.<br>I didn't feel grown up.

And, I had been trying so hard to grow up lately.  
>To move on from the past.<p>

"Cammie,"

My mom must have seen my face, she must have read my eyes, and I must have lost my touch to hide it all because her voice was changed. And, suddenly the conversation held a lot more weight than my continual confusion over Zachary Goode.

"Cammie, look at me." And, when I did she smiled, "Why do you want to go to Nebraska?"

I wanted to say a million different things right then. I wanted to tell her how much I missed being at the ranch. How much it reminded me of Dad. How familiar it really was. And, how much I longed for something familiar. Something that would make me feel like me again. Because, too much darkness can make you lose your way. And, in the past year, I had experienced more than my fair share of darkness.

But, something gave me the feeling that she already knew all of that.  
>So, I simply said the first thing that came to mine.<p>

"Because, it's…home."

Mom gave a smile then that told me I had given exactly the answer she had been expecting.  
>And, I wasn't surprised. She wasn't a CIA legend for nothing.<br>And, she wasn't my mother for nothing either.  
>It was her job to know me, inside and out.<p>

And, it was also her job to correct me when I was off course.  
>Which is why she said exactly what I kinda sorta didn't want to hear:<p>

"Sweetie, you've been through a lot. But, the only person who's possibly been through more,"  
>"is him." Him, referring to Zach, "He deserves "home" just as much as you do."<p>

"But-"

"Cammie, he's coming to us with us to Nebraska. He's going to meet your grandparents. He's going to spend Christmas with us. And, I don't want to hear any more about it."

"But-"

"Cameron Ann – " she spoke with a voice that sounded as if I dared to say 'but' one more time, she'd show me how exactly she tackled down those three men with only her pocket liter – rumor or no rumor.  
>So, I did what any daughter would, and shut the heck up.<p>

"Sweetie," my mom broke the silence once more, reaching to stroke my hair and cupping my face, reading every thought in my head like an open book not even I could understand. But, of course, she had no problem with the task.

"I think you need this vacation more than anyone else. But, Nebraska's not going to fix everything."

"Then what will?"

I didn't remember telling my mouth to say that. I didn't remember allowing such a question to be set free. But, I guess I was simply desperate. Desperate to forget the darkness that had cursed much our lives for the last year. And, well, desperate times call for desperate insecurity-revealing measures.

My mother shrugged like a person who had absolutely no idea.  
>But, I'd be a fool to believe her gesture was anything but part of a cover.<p>

"I think your cure is closer than you think,"

I know. I didn't get it either. Not for a long time.  
>But, at that point I really didn't have much time to think about it, because as soon as my mother gave me a kiss on the head, and floated out of the room with no more to the argument but a "get packed" and "see you in the morning", Zachary Goode appeared out of nowhere and stepped through the sliding glass door way.<p>

"You're not _really_ _angry_ about this, are you, Gallagher Girl?" He said waltzing into the room, overconfident smirk and all. And, if I wasn't "_really _angry" before, I definitely was then. All he had to do to make me angry was walk into the room. That might have been an over exaggeration on any other day. But, right then, it was only the truth. (Like I said, still bitter about the doughnut).

"Of course I am." I snapped.

Zach simply disregarded my dramatic attitude and paced around the office examining it as if he hadn't seen Langely's attempt to make up for the newbie's tendency to be dumped with mounds and mounds of paper work as opposed to overnight missions to Belize ( or_ something_the least bit more exciting than mission inquires and regional statistic reports). He almost admired the space as if he didn't have one exactly like it three doors down and across the hall.

"I don't mean to ruin your vacation,"  
>He shrugged and said that as if he totally didn't believe that he was doing anything to hinder my Christmas break whatsoever. Which he <em>so<em>was.

"But, it does give us a good chance to get…_reacquainted_"

At that point, I was pretty sure he was kidding, but I couldn't help but throwing up a little.  
>Not that the thought of being "reacquainted" with anyone who looked like Zachary Goode was all that unpleasant. I guess it was just the whole attitude, and his recent Grinch-that-stole-Christmas-ness, that was making me hate him more than usual today.<p>

And, you know what those motivational posters always say.  
>It's what's on the inside that counts.<p>

"You'd like that wouldn't you, Gallagher Girl?"

But, let it be known for the first time in history, I wasn't mentally recording every word that came out of Zach's mouth so I could review the meaning with Macey later. I was actually not paying attention at all.  
>Well, not totally at least.<p>

I was actually busy thinking of a way to get around all of this. I was thinking of a way that would save my trip back to the last piece of home I really had. A plan that would satisfy my mother's need to bring Zach along as well as my need to get rid of him as soon as possible.

And, right as Zach made himself comfortable on the white leather sitting area couch (courtesy of Langley's sympathy for its paper work pack mules) , I finally had it. A brilliant plan that might perhaps compromise the Grinch that was plotting to steal the Morgan family Christmas.  
>Okay, so maybe that is another overstatement…<br>But, I still stood up in a sort of "eureka-slash-light-bulb" moment and said,

"The twenty sixth."

"Excuse me?" Zach lifted his head off the arm of the sofa and cocked an eye brow.  
>"It's the day after the twenty fifth."<br>"Yeah I got that part, Gallagher Girl, but – "  
>"You have to be out by the twenty sixth."<p>

Right then I remember looking into Zach's dark green eyes and watching him stop, and blink.  
>And for a second I wondered if the boy with emotions of steel and unwavering confidence<br>was actually hurt. But, I shrugged it off as impossible, and continued.

"And, there are rules," I took a breath as if to triple check if this whole plan really would work, that maybe I could survive the holiday and enjoy Nebraska even if Zach had to be there,  
>"You can't talk about anything…"<p>

"Anything." Zach lifted his eyebrows almost in question of my sanity.  
>"<em>Anything<em>."  
>"So, you want me to be a mime…"<p>

"Zach! You know what I mean. Don't talk about-" _The past_, I thought. The darkness that is in no way or fashion going to reach the ears and eyes of my grandparents as it had reached us. Not if I could help it.

But, Zach interrupted me before I could finish, waving away the matter as if it were as light as a feather rather than heavier than the air between us had been since we came home alive.

"Yeah, yeah. Alright. Any more demands?"  
>That's when I froze. And, choked.<p>

Before I go on, let me explain something.  
>Tragedy doesn't last forever. Or rather, it <em>can't<em> last forever.  
>There has to be a time where you grow up, move on, heal.<br>If I had learned anything from the past, the Circle, my dad's death,  
>it was that fact. And, trust me, I had given my all into trying to grow up.<br>trying to forget, trying to heal, trying to _move on_.

And, when it came to Zach, practically the epitome of the darkness we endured starting my junior year, my efforts were no different. I just wanted to move on.  
>So, if you can understand any of that, maybe you'll understand why I said,<p>

"You're just someone I work with…" It was harder to his face than to myself I discovered, because suddenly, I was stuttering. (And, Gallagher does _not_slack on its teaching of speech and language techniques. Therefore, my education should have opted for a different result).

"There's nothing…" curse those stupid green eyes, "nothing going on-."  
>"When we're there. We're just friends." I said finishing strong.<p>

With that, Zach didn't smile. He didn't smirk. He didn't make fun of my sudden struggle with speaking.  
>He just stood, slowly walked to me, and said<br>"Where I come from, Gallagher Girl, we call that a cover"  
>As if I didn't know. As if I wasn't an official CIA agent too.<p>

"Can you handle that?"I asked, doing my best to regain some sort of dignity. But, as always, in a matter of seconds, with nothing but a perk of his eye brows and an ever cryptic tone,  
>Zach Goode sent it all tumbling down.<p>

"Can you?"


	2. Chapter 2

There was a reason why I didn't want to spend my holiday vacation with Zach.  
>And, contrary to what you may think, it wasn't selfish.<br>Well, most of it wasn't selfish.  
>Okay, well, at least a little bit wasn't completely selfish.<p>

Either way, I promise you I wasn't only thinking about myself.  
>I wasn't only thinking about the fact that ever since things had "returned to normal" – otherwise known as once I wasn't being chased down by an ancient terrorist organization anymore (or so we hoped),<br>Zach had so courteously done me the favor of also "returning to normal".

However "normal" in his case meant teasing and taunting and-

"Nice ranch, Gallagher Girl. It's…"

A low voice spoke close to my ear as the sound of suitcases rolling against the gravel emerged behind me. My Grandpa's truck doors slammed shut. The December freeze billowed across the grounds.  
>And, shivers shot down my spine as Zach summed up his feelings about my father's roots in one word and a nasty audible smirk.<p>

"Quaint."

_That._

That is what I'm talking about.  
><em>That's<em> what I've been dealing with for the past four months at work.  
>That's what I wanted to leave behind for at least for a week.<br>That snide, sarcastic, disrespectful, completely emotionless, conscienceless…

Well, you get the point.  
>And, I know what you're thinking.<br>"Seems like that's the main reason right there. You don't want to put up with him."

Well, thank you for your commentary, and, quite frankly, no.  
>No I don't want to put up with all of that.<br>Not now. Not that I had so much more to worry about.  
>The thing is. There was something much deeper to all of this.<br>Something a lot less selfish. Something I have to explain.

You see, Nebraska has the most beautiful sunrises.  
>I mean, maybe not statistically or even by popular vote.<p>

But, to me, every other morning view seems to pale in comparison to the one I can see from the porch swing on the ranch around five. When my dad was alive and he took me to visit Grandpa and Grandma Morgan, we used to take turns staying awake at night, making sure we didn't miss the first ray of sunshine. ( considering our common tendency to well…_not get up_)  
><em><br>_I remember sitting cross legged on the rough wood swing and staring onto the horizon with nothing more that Gram's old wool blanket, and Dad.  
>Usually he would fall back to sleep right after we sat down.<br>He would snore and I would watch as the ranch slowly woke up, totally and completely unaware of the two admiring its beauty. But, when he _was_ awake, Dad would always smile as the sun finally peeked over the planes. A broad, joyful smile as if he were laughing. As if it were ironic how that even in a world so dark and lost, a sunrise so bright and brilliant could exist.  
>As if Nebraska was a whole other planet.<p>

A whole other planet full of smoothie colored sunshine, calm cricket-singing peace,  
>and light. Light brighter and more brilliant than any other kind of light there really was.<p>

I remember thinking that nothing could really touch this place.  
>Nothing dark or dangerous or anything.<br>But, to believe that would be ignorant.

That's why I didn't want to bring Zach to Nebraska.  
>That's why I would really rather have left him behind.<p>

I had spent the last half year trying to grow up, to get over what happened with the Circle,  
>the things I had seen, heard, felt. I had tried so hard to heal.<br>And, the truth is, my Grandparents had never known that kind of darkness.  
>They hadn't seen such pain or heard as many screams of agony.<br>They really didn't even know what happened.  
>They just thought I skipped a summer and spent my vacation somewhere else. .<p>

They were quiet, peaceful people.  
>And, to have that peace ruined was a high price to pay for simply<br>having a granddaughter who got an unlucky break.

To put it simply, I was afraid or bringing shadows to the ranch I could never erase.  
>I was afraid of tainting everything, everything that might have the potential to help me.<br>Even more afraid than I was of never getting over the stuff that would do the tainting.

Because a past like that destroys covers, destroys legends, almost as quickly as it destroys your mind. Questions would be asked. And, things that my Grandparents should never know had double the chance of being let loose with Zach here.

Not that he wouldn't stick to cover.

But, it was a lot of dodging of questions. a lot of telling of lies.  
>a lot of hiding from shadows.<p>

And, I was tired of hiding.  
>I was tired of darkness.<br>I just wanted light. **  
><strong>  
>"Zachary, dear, where are you from again?"<p>

Grandma Morgan frail voice called from the kitchen as she brought in fresh rolls. The rich smell filled the little dining room, and with the candles and the old homey scent of the wooden walls, one who didn't know any better would think this Christmas Eve dinner was just like any other.  
>And, I guess it was in a sense.<p>

If you didn't count the three secret agents , my grandmother's choice to interview probably the most lethal of all three, and the fact that the said most lethal of the secret agents at the dinner table was acting as if he was totally not lethal at all. In fact, he was acting kind of sweet.  
>Which was really weird if you ask me.<p>

"Virginia." Zach said without a beat, without a smirk, without an anything that was the least bit Zach-ish.

He grabbed a roll with a sweet smile to my grandmother then looked to me and raised his eyebrow as if to question why he could feel me doubting him and his promise to stick to cover from across the table where he sat in front of me.

"And, you work with Cammie?"  
>"Yes 'mam"<br>"And, you do know she's single?"

I felt Zach smirk, my mom choke a little, and all eyes land on me,  
>But, there was no way I was looking up.<p>

I just watched my plate, crammed mashed potatoes in my mouth and braced for the "Yeah, I'm not interested" I was really hoping to hear. But, it would take an entire personality transplant for Zach to not rock the boat at least a little bit. So, at least I sort of knew it was coming when he said.

"Well, actually she and I are sort of – OW"  
>The contact of my foot to his shin sort of shook the table more than I thought it would.<br>But, the deed was done. Zach cringed. And, momentarily, the table went to chaos.

"What was that? It wasn't an earthquake was it?"  
>"Zachary, sweetheart, are you alright? You look pale."<br>"Cammie!" My mom snapped  
>"What was that for, Gallagher -"<br>_Beep_.

"Oh! I That's the ham!"  
>"I'll get it, Grandma" I jumped up from my chair and headed for the kitchen getting out of the war zone as quickly as I possibly could, but to this day I sort of wish I stayed. I wish I was there to see Zach's face, or at least apologize for severely bruising his shin as soon as my grandpa spoke up.<p>

"So, where's the rest of your family spending the holiday?"

I froze. I could hear my mother's breathe hitch just a cinch behind me.  
>And, that's when I realized. I had forgotten about that part of the cover. I had forgotten to plan, to prepare for that question. But, that wasn't even the worst part.<p>

The worst part was, I had forgotten about the real answer to that question.  
>The answer Grandpa and Grandma Morgan would never know.<br>The answer that definitely wasn't anything near the one Zach gave to them.

"Well, my parents are traveling," he said without a beat, without a frown, "on business."  
>"All the way through Christmas?" Grandma Morgan asked in a "what-a-shame" sort of way,<p>

"When will they be back?"  
>"Around New Years. I'm leaving the twenty-sixth so I can meet up with them in Toronto."<p>

_The twenty sixth_, I thought.

"That's too bad they couldn't be here."

It _was_ too bad.  
>And, it was too bad that I told him to leave the day after Christmas.<br>Even when there wasn't a family waiting for him in Toronto.  
>Even when there really wasn't any place for him to go at all.<p>

It was too bad that my mother's words hadn't sunken in until now.  
>It was too bad I missed the fact maybe Zach needed to come to Nebraska more than I did.<p>

He must have nodded or something because Grandpa continued the conversation with  
>an invitation I couldn't help but feel I should have given him a long time ago.<p>

"Well, you're always welcome here, Zachary."

I guess I must have actually froze somewhere during that conversation.  
>I guess I must have actually stopped walking.<br>Because the next thing I knew, my grandmother was calling my name.

"Cammie, sweetie?"  
>"Yeah?" I turned around to a large red oak table and four pairs of very perplexed eyes.<br>I guess I didn't even make it through the kitchen door.

"The ham?"

"Oh. Sorry!" I said heading toward the kitchen, but then making a full circle by twisting back on my heel.  
>I'm not sure what made me say it, but soon enough the words were coming out of my mouth in almost a sort of plea. "Zach, can you help me?"<p>

`

"So, why did you need help with the ham again?" Zach asked leaning on the granite counter as he smirked and watched me pull the meat out of the oven and place it on the stove top to cool.

I got what he was asking. I mean we had been trained to do much more complicated and gruesome tasks than cooking a pig for Christmas dinner. But, my mom always said that there's a difference between espionage and culinary arts – a big difference. Which is why she a legend in one field and well, no good in the other.

So, I had a couple reasons for asking him to follow me into the kitchen.  
>One. I was terrified that I had inherited my mother's "microwave-only" gene.<br>And, two. Well, I guess…

I guess I really didn't know until it all came out of my mouth.

"Sorry I kicked you…" I muttered, grabbing a carving knife from the drawer and doing my best to make the meat look like it always did in those Christmas specials on TV.

"You wanted to apologize?" Zach almost laughed, "That's why you asked me to help?"  
>I shrugged still trying to figure out if I was supposed to hold the ham down with my hand or use those forks the do in the movies. I decided it was the fork.<br>So I went looking for one.  
>And, Zach followed.<p>

"I mean it's okay, Gallagher Girl" he placed it's elbows on the counter that now separated us while I searched the drawers on the other side, "You just didn't want your grandparents to know that you're completely in love with-"

"When was the last time you had a Christmas?"  
>I had stopped looking. I had stopped fidgeting.<br>And, when I saw Zach's dark green eyes sink, I knew I had hit a soft spot.  
>"With your family?"<p>

There was a long pause. A silence that only allowed guilt to continue to gnaw away at me.  
>So, I decided to distract myself as Zach decided if he wanted to answer or not.<br>I grabbed the big fork, snatched up the carving knife, and made my way back to the ham.

But, I didn't have to do much fidgeting,  
>I didn't have to endure more than three close calls of almost slicing my fingers off,<br>because soon enough Zach reached to me, gently took the utensils from my hand, and began to carve.

"You really want the sob story, Gallagher Girl?" He asked, his voice almost inaudible, almost as frail as Grandma Morgan's.

"I want the truth," I heard myself say, purely astonished by the fact that not only was he carving the ham _just_ like they do on TV, but Zachary Goode was suddenly very vulnerable, desperate even.

As if he came to Nebraska to escape the darkness too.

"I was eight."


	3. Chapter 3

Grandpa Morgan once told me that we can never really know for certain  
>what people want in their lives, what they <em>truly <em>think or wish for.  
>He said that you can't completely trust what people say, or even what people do,<br>to tell you what they desire because most times people aren't even sure themselves.

And, I mean, Grandpa Morgan isn't my father's father for nothing.  
>In fact, he's right on the money.<p>

All of my nineteen years of living I was taught how to tell lies and detect them.  
>I was taught to see right through a perfectly formed phrase, know it was far from the truth, and then do something about it .I had learned the art. I knew the skill. I had put it into practice once or twice before.<br>And, I was good at it.

But, as I adjusted my extremely uncomfortable position on the"less-than-cozy-and-totally-not-as-warm-and-fuzzy-as-the-bed-upstairs-that-used-to-be-mine" pull out couch, I couldn't help but wonder why it was only now that I was realizing that, even with all of my years of training,  
>I was never taught how to detect the truth, what someone <em>really<em> wanted  
>rather than how it seemed from the outside.<p>

I guess that's where faith comes in.

But, Grandpa Morgan _also _once told me that people are most honest when they're either completely drunk or half asleep. So, if you wanted to the truth, give The Subject a beer or two more than they could hold, or sing them a nice lullaby and then find a good excuse for an impromptu early morning meeting.

And, even though _Grandma_ Morgan always says to take what Gramps says with a grain of salt,  
>I couldn't help believing there was some truth to all of that.<p>

That maybe we're only truly honest with each other, with _ourselves,_ when everything is simplified.  
>When we are so numb that we don't care what others think, or the consequences of setting the truth free. Maybe it's only then when the real truth comes out.<br>(Whether that numbness is achieved through exhaustion or alcohol is up to personal preference).

So, I'd like to think that numbness to life in general, as well as a severe lack of sleep  
>is what made me speak to the figure that now was moving across my grandparents' den so quietly,<br>so swiftly that the untrained eye never would have seen.

I mean, it had been a long night.  
>And, considering I was two years under the age for drinking,<br>I blame my next words – or rather next _word_ – on the fact that I was half asleep.  
>And, it was Christmas Eve.<br>And, after a year of running, hiding, blending, fighting,  
>not to mention decoding the emotions of an every cryptic yet still <em>very hot<em> colleague,

I wanted something simple. I wanted something constant.  
>I wanted to stop trying to grow up. To move on.<br>And, just be a girl.

So, there you have it.  
>I guess, at that moment in time, for even just a split second,<br>I really just wanted to be a child again, and my half-asleep heart decided It was time to tell the truth to the world. And, _I swear_, it's for that reason and that reason only that I squinted against the Christmas lights lining the evergreen not five feet away from my position, spotted the figure and said,

"Santa?"

Of course, it was only moments after that I realized the figure was much thinner than I imagined Santa Clause would be. His muscles were more defined, his hair was far from a crisp white, and unfortunately for me, as the figure's face formed with my eyes' adjusting to the light, I realized one very vital fact about old St. Nick.

Santa doesn't smirk.

"Well, this ought to be good blackmail material."

Yeah, Santa wouldn't say that either.  
>And, I didn't need to hear his voice to know who it was.<br>I didn't even need to see his smirk.  
>His verbalism was enough for me to groan, flop back down onto the mattress and hide my head in the pillow as if that was going to save me from the century of humiliation I had just earned for myself.<br>All because wanted to believe in magic. Magic and a nice, jolly fat man in a beautiful red suit  
>rather than a no good, stupid, stinky, rotten bed stealer that only laughed at my obvious need to get some shut eye.<p>

"You do know he doesn't exist, right?"

Zach stood at the foot of the pull out and did his stupid little annoying yet seemingly attractive half laugh which only made things not only worse, but definitely more complicated and confusing.

Since I really didn't need to be thinking he was attractive when he now had enough dirt on me to keep the forty second floor Cammie Morgan teasing streak going for another year. A streak that he had single handedly kept alive just through his snotty remarks alone. And, the fact that he was capable of doing such a thing solely for selfish entertainment was not supposed to be attractive. At all.

So, in a situation like this, when there was absolutely no way out.  
>I went with my original longing for simplicity, and child-like hope,<br>turned to him and said quite frankly,

"You can't prove that."

And, here's where the shocking part comes in.  
>Zach was silent.<p>

Even though he could very well disprove the theory of Santa Clause with such evidence that would put even the guy from The Miracle on 34th Street to shame – and do it all in under a minute, Zach simply shrugged, took a seat on the arm of the couch, and stared at the Christmas lights as if he was almost hypnotized by them. (Though I'm pretty sure it's safe to say he wasn't _actually_ hypnotized, considering Liz never tried out her grand idea for hypnotic Christmas decorations 'cause it really didn't seem right in light of the holiday season)

And, I guess it was right then as I laid there in utter disbelief,  
>recalling the way his green eyes sunk at dinner with the mention of his past,<br>that I realized maybe Zachary Goode was tired too.

And not just from a night full of Morgan family festivities.  
>But, tired in general. Tired of trauma. Tired of lies.<br>Tired of darkness.

Maybe that's why he liked those lights so much.  
>Maybe that's why he accepted my mother's invitation to Nebraska.<p>

Maybe that's why when I broke the unnatural silence and asked  
>"Who's it for?" referring to the package the figure from before had placed under the tree,<br>Zach simply said,  
>"You."<p>

And, that was a shocker. Considering that was the most straight forward answer and honest answer Zach Goode has probably ever given anyone, if not just me.

So, if we were abiding by Grandpa Morgan's half-asleep equals honesty theory ,  
>I thought it was pretty safe to say he was tired, physically as well as mentally.<br>But, I guess I decided to test my conclusion because only a second later I found myself asking,

"What is it?"

And, I guess it was because of that conclusion that I almost believed him  
>when he leaned down to me and whispered,<p>

"A bomb."

Now, that wouldn't have been completely unnatural.  
>Considering our career path, a bomb could have been a perfectly logical gift.<br>And, actually and wouldn't have necessarily been a bad one as long as it wasn't ticking down to explosion as we spoke. Not that I would put that beneath Zach.  
>Nor would it be a problem.<p>

I could disable a bomb in my sleep.  
>which was a pretty good skill to have at the moment considering I was still <em>really <em>drowsy.  
>And, it was because of this fact that I am totally not a morning person and I really don't wake up all that easily that the following conversation even happened.<p>

"Now, move."

At that point I couldn't tell if Zach was fully awake or not.  
>His weird, quiet meekness was gone, and he had long been done staring at the twinkling lights in the corner of the room. But, he was still being extremely honest in the sense that he wasn't sparing my feelings at all by sugar coating anything. He clearly wanted me to move and there wasn't going to be any "pretty please" or even just "please" attached to his request at all.<p>

And, I know that for a fact.  
>Because, when I didn't respond, he said it again, no kindness or courtesy included.<p>

"Move."

"What?"

"Get up, Gallagher Girl." He said with no softness or anything very favor-asking worthy in his tone. Only demand. Which was really rather rude if you ask me.

So, naturally, I said so.

"What is your problem, Za-"  
>"Do you want your bed back or not?"<p>

And, I guess that made me move like he wanted because the next thing I knew, I was standing at the foot of the pull out and he was now fixing the pillow to his liking.

"Zach, you really don't have to-"

"Hey," Zach shot out as he whirled on me, landing far closer to my face than he thought he would. I knew because suddenly his voice was softer as if he was trying to convince the terrified look in my eyes that all was well.

"I'm only here for two more nights."  
>He said almost said that sweetly, almost smiling a little bit, almost as if he was sort of sad…<br>"And, considering you thought I was Santa, I'd say you need that bed more than I do."

Zach smirked so softly, so subtly, that it seemed as if he thought that any further twitch of his lip would send the silent night into chaos. And, for a second, it seemed like all he ever wanted for me was peace.  
>For a second, it seemed like that was the honest truth.<p>

Pushing my pillow into my hands, Zach gave me a wink then said,  
>"Goodnight, Gallagher Girl. Sleep well."<p>

And, despite all of the signs that he really did mean well,  
>and that he was in far too much of a zombie-like state to have rigged the bed upstairs to explode on contact, or soaked the sheets in poison.<p>

I guess it was a big chunk of guilt, a whole lot of "half-asleep honestly", and maybe a little bit of fate that made me turn around and cause the late night conversation to end like it did. Really. I wouldn't have said anything if I was in my right mind. I really would have just let him switch beds with me in peace.

But, as my mouth opened once more,  
>I couldn't help thinking that Grandpa Morgan may have been onto something about the whole "truth reveals itself most easily through intoxication or sleep deprivation" thing, but sometimes it might not be lack of sleep or one too many glasses of wine that makes the heart speak at all.<p>

Sometimes the truth is told because it can't be held inside any longer.  
>Sometimes the truth is told when the world needs it most.<br>Sometimes the truth is told whether you knew it was the truth or not,  
>with or without conscious permission.<p>

I can assure you that night, it was without.

"The twenty-sixth."

I said the words aloud turning around to face a very confused  
>and probably very irritated Zachary Goode halfway under the sheets.<p>

"What, Gallagher Girl?"

"The twenty-sixth," I took a step toward him.  
>"I know, I know. You want me out by-"<br>"Stay."

Suddenly, I realized Zach's uncharacteristic silence before didn't have anything to the silence that filled my grandparents den now. Not to mention, this time, my hands were clamming up. My throat was slowly closing. And, for a moment I wondered if I had said the right thing.  
>If the truth was really going to set anyone free this time.<br>All I was really for certain of at that point was that  
>I really did want him to stay. He needed to stay.<br>And, I needed him to stay too, whether I knew that then or not.

Zach blinked.  
>And, that's when my mouth went wild.<p>

"I mean, just stay. You don't have to leave. I mean, you don't have to stay until I go back to Langley. But, you don't have to necessarily leave on the twenty sixth. I just said that because…"

But, as I rambled, Zach didn't laugh like it was cute. He didn't stop me out of pity.  
>He just raised an eyebrow as my voice faded off into the dark,<br>then simply said,

"I have to go meet up with my family, remember?"

He said that because it was his cover.  
>He said that because covers aren't easily changed.<br>He said that because I was supposed to understand that fact.

But, I couldn't help but look at him and see the Zach I saw in the kitchen.  
>The one who was as desperate for light, or sunshine, or magic, or <em>anything<em> as much as I was.  
>So, I let my heart speak for itself, and finally said what I had wanted to since dinner but never could realy find the words, much less the courage.<p>

Which is where the fact that I was half asleep came in handy.

"This _is_ your family." I exhaled, as if to release everything I could,  
>"And, you need to be here just as much as I do."<p>

For so long I had wanted to get over what happened last year.  
>I wanted to move on. I wanted to grow up.<br>I wanted life back. I wanted to heal.

I wanted the light from the Nebraska sunrise to show me that the world wasn't all darkness.  
>That not everything was as gruesome and cruel and rough as it may seem.<br>That places like Nebraska, and things full of light could exist.

But, like I said before, Grandpa Morgan was right when he said that sometimes we aren't even sure of what we want, what the truth is _ourselves._ Because when Zach stood up, his eye brows knitted in some sort of mysterious concentration as he took the last few steps of distance that separated up, and kissed me in the middle of my grandparents den that Christmas Morning, I finally understood that I didn't want the sunrise at all.

Well, maybe I did.  
>But, maybe the light I so desperately searched for<br>wasn't going to come where I thought it would.

Not at all where I thought it would.

"Cam, I…" Zach broke the kiss first, his deep voice making me shiver. But, I was all too distracted to realize Zachary Goode was at a loss for words, it had been a good thirty seconds and he still hadn't finished his sentence, or the fact that he had used my actual name.

Because, suddenly it was all clear to me.  
>I shouldn't have been afraid to bring Zach to Nebraska.<br>I shouldn't have been afraid of Zach period.

Zach wasn't the darkness we were both trying so hard to run away from.  
>Zach wasn't darkness at all.<p>

He was light.

The light that existed despite the shadows of the world.  
>The light like the kind from the Nebraskan sunrise.<br>The light I guess I had been looking for.

"Why didn't I kiss you four months ago?"  
>I didn't think I said that aloud…<br>But, apparently I did, because Zach gave a muffled chuckle then kissed me again.  
>And, with that kiss, sparks flew, sunshine burst, and it was weird but it seemed like all of the darkness,<br>from the past, any darkness at all was suddenly gone.

Of course, that could have been because someone turned the lights on.

"Getting _reacquainted_, I see." My mother said, her hand resting over the light switch.

Of all of the things Zachary Goode was, he was most prominently a pavement artist. A very good one at that. The best I had ever known – second to my dad of course. And, it wasn't every day that he got caught. Actually, it wasn't any day at all. He always seemed to dodge the heat and leave no trace, even before I could. And, I was supposed to be a CIA prodigy.

So, I guess it was a sight to behold, as my mother's voice came chiming from the little staircase, arms crossed, and shoulder on the wall and a perfect view of Zach and I. Making the two supposedly best up and coming pavement artists in the Agency officially _caught._

And, it was either because my astonishment or the fact that my lips were still tingling, and the butterflies in my stomach were still buzzing, that I really wasn't in any state to come up with a good lie to cover it all.

"We were just-um…"

But, Rachel Morgan was a spy in her own right, as well as a mother. So, it was only halfway through my sentence that I realized my mom really didn't need to be told what just happened, or told anything else to make her think otherwise. Plus, let's be honest. Would any lie, no matter how perfectly formed, really cover up the fact that I was just in lip lock with Zach and probably sort of kind of enjoying it?

Exactly.

And, that's probably why my cheeks flushed with  
>complete and utter embarrassment, and I froze in shame.<p>

"Well, whatever you were doing, kiddo. Hurry it up."  
>My mom laughed a little glancing over her shoulder checking her tail , keeping watch of the premises, like any good spy would, any spy that wasn't being kissed by Zachary Goode. Because, in my own defense, a kiss like that from a guy like him would throw off even the best of spies.<p>

Not that it was a very good excuse.

"You get caught. You blow cover." She said.  
>"Not that anyone's convinced about the whole 'just friends' thing anyway"<br>Zach muttered from behind me, calmly seated on the pull out as if he had no one to answer to, nothing to be embarrassed about. As if he didn't kiss me at all. And, truth be told, he'd probably deny it.

And, suddenly I remembered why I sort of kind of hated Zach in the first place.  
>super-sweet-incredibly-and-unbelievably-enlightening-kiss or not.<p>

"Get some sleep" My mom called as she turned to leave us, retracing her path up the stairs only cuing me to whirl on the boy now extended across the pull out as if he hadn't a care in a world, as if all of that didn't just happen. Because nothing could shake Zachary Goode. Not even a girl.

Or, that's what I thought.

"Zach-"

I whirled on him, expecting to defend myself. Pulling out all of the stops to make sure he didn't forget that he was the one that stood up and kissed me, not the other way around.  
>But, I guess you never really can tell what people really truly want, or really what they truly think either.<br>Or that's what Grandpa Morgan always said.

"Merry Christmas, Gallagher Girl," Zach cut me off, standing up off of the mattress, then effortlessly pecking my lips leaving me completely speechless.

I had come to Nebraska to find life, to find light.  
>And, I did find it. Not where I thought I would.<br>But, I did find it. Even though it probably would have done a lot of good if I knew four months ago that all I had to do to find the said light was quit trying to grow up, and move on from the only person who could truly help me, understand me, _see_ me. Despite my chameleon like quality.

But, either way I found it. I found _him_.  
>And, I guess he was my light in a way. My own personal sunrise in a world that seemed so dark.<br>And, somehow, as his lips lightly met mine before I retreated up the stairs on Christmas morning,  
>I couldn't help but feel like that I was his light too. And, somehow he had known that all along.<p>

Not that he would admit that to anyone unless completely drunk or half asleep.

"Merry Christmas,"

I called softly once I found my voice again, climbing the stairs through the black feeling a sort of smile on my lips I was almost certain hadn't been there for ages. A smile that was broad and joyful as if I thought it ironic how something so brilliant and bright could exist in a world so dark and lost.

It was a smile I was pretty glad no one was there to see.

Of course, that's what I thought.  
>I t<em>hought<em> no one was there to see my ridiculous giddy expression and far too easily swayed opinion of the most complicated, cryptic, lethal boy I had ever known until I found my mother waiting for me at the guest room than door with an all-knowing grin, and a low "I-told-you-so" sort of tone. Because, after all, my cure_ had_ been a lot closer I would have ever expected. Just like she said it would. And, with her words, I knew there was no way I was gonna live this one down.

"So, kiddo," she mused, "Glad I brought him?"


	4. Thanks for Reading!

**Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think!**

In the meantime,

Check out my other three-shot: **Roses are Red**  
>My one-shots: <strong>The East Wing <strong>and** Top Five Reasons My Life Will Never Be A Fairy Tale**  
>And, my full blown story: <strong>A Record of Covert Operations – by Zachary Goode<br>**  
><strong>I'd love to here your feedback!<strong>


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